


Wash Away My Colors

by cytryne



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (minus the lack fo editing I mean), Again, Angst, Daddy Issues, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Manipulation, Poor Life Choices, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The Author Regrets Everything, Torture, abusive tactics, celebrimbor needs a hug and therapy, does hurt/comfort count when the one doing the comforting is also doing the hurting, honestly not sure if this is going to be canon or au yet, if their characterization seems inconsistant: it's supposed to, implied angbang, it totally didn't take a month to update what do you mean, my attempt at making this realistic, please take note of the tags I'm not just marking them for fun yall, questionable stylistic choices, this is not a nice fic, very specific word choices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-04-21 08:24:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14280909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cytryne/pseuds/cytryne
Summary: All Celebrimbor wanted to do now was to make up for his mistakes, in whatever way necessary. He hadn't calculated for this. Lines that should have been clear were blurring--and his demons kept coming out to play.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Drabbles along these themes were starting to take over my drabble collection, so I decided to combine them and try to stretch myself by writing a long fic that actually isn't all disjointed. 
> 
> Please take note of all the tags. This chapter is mostly setting things up, but they will come into effect soon. If there's anything specific to that chapter I will mention it beforehand, but assume torture/manipulation/gaslighting to apply to every chapter.

Celebrimbor stood, tall and proud, and looked back over the friends, kinsmen, and vassals that had chosen to stay and fight with him. It was not a large host, but he would not have asked for more. All those who remained had volunteered. It did not ease the ache inside his chest at knowing he had most certainly lead them all to their death, but it was up to them. This had been their home and livelihood for centuries, they had the right to choose to fight for it after the betrayal.

 

His chest filled with pride looking at them. They had been the loyalest people he had ever known and he was proud to call them friends.

 

Hearing the warning signals, he knew time was short. Something ought to be said, to encourage and impress his gratitude on them, despite his disdain at the idea of a speech. He could not let this go without some sort of final goodbye.

 

“The enemy is nigh upon us, my friends. Be prepared. They will not be kind to us, but I know you can do this. Fight, for our home, our families, and our honor. Prove to the enemy that we will not take this lying down, and be the good people I know.”

 

Words finished, he turned back to the entrance and prepared himself. The sounds of the army were only getting closer by the second. They would lose. But he would do his Valar damned best to ensure this battle was the hardest won since Dagor Bragollath. And then he would die, of course. He would have no escape from the city before it was taken over by the orqui and death would be the only chance to keep his knowledge from Sauron.

 

The gates thudded loudly, bending in under the force of a battering ram. Celebrimbor nocked an arrow. On the next thud he drew it back, and waited. Two hits later, the gates collapsed and he took a shot.

 

An orc fell, beginning the battle in earnest.

 

———

 

They were pushed further and further back with each wave, losing elves like flies. Before long they were standing on the steps to the jewel halls, the ten of them in a rough ring with weapons poised to attack any who dared come closer. It would have been s simple matter for the orqui to simply overwhelm them, but the monsters held their ground a few feet away.

 

They should have been attacked by now. Orqui weren’t known for their patience, they rarely waited in the middle of a battle.

 

Unless they were ordered to.

 

Celebrimbor glanced behind him—at his friends, grim and exhausted and injured but prepared to fight as long as they could, and the halls. The halls. The place where he typically kept all of his equipment, projects, and finished works before they were sold. They had been herded there, their forces decimated, and now—

 

The orqui were moving. Shifting aside from the back, to make way for someone to walk through. Celebrimbor nearly scoffed, glaring at the rapidly approaching figure. Of course Thauron would only show up after his servants had them cornered. He obviously thought it demeaning to do anything other than waltz in after the battle had been decided and take control of the spoils.

 

Well then, Celebrimbor would just have to stop him from having that satisfaction. He adjusted his grip on his sword—bow long discarded—and flipped a hand up in a signal, then attacked with a clash. He could hear the others following his lead behind him, but all his focus was on the orqui. He deliberately fought sloppily, leaving a gap in his guard here, and there, and there again, but none of the orqui took them. If they would not do it, he would. No matter the shame. Celebrimbor grabbed his knife off his belt, twisted it around, and stabbed himself.

 

The knife was knocked out of his hand before it touched him with a blow that knocked the feeling out of his arm. Hands grabbed his arms, wrenching his sword out of his grasp and forcing him to his knees. He didn’t fight it. His ploy had failed, physical attempts would be more or less useless now.

 

Grim, he looked up. All around him his friends were dying or being forced into a similar position with even less grace. And that thrice-damned Maia was approaching.

 

“A good effort, Tyelperinquar. Not nearly enough, of course, but an admirable attempt.”

 

And oh, but he sounded exactly the same as he had as Annatar. The hint of approval at something Celebrimbor had done, the kindness and attention he always gave him. It wasn’t fair that the monster sounded the same as the face of the monster he’d cared about. It hurt.

 

“Now, where exactly are my Rings?”

 

Celebrimbor looked at him, blood boiling at the suggestion and tone and everything about this, and very deliberately spat at his feet.

 

“You will get nothing from here.”

 

Gorthaur laughed, seemingly genuinely amused. “As amusing as ever. I would hate to be forced to put up even more of a fuss, but if you are insistent on being stubborn…” he waved a hand carelessly. “You have friends here who could easily take the fall every day you refuse to share.”

 

“Like all of the other friends you murdered in taking the city? More people who trusted you and called you friend too, once?” he snapped back. “You seem to have forgotten that in your campaign for your own power. Must be nice to never care about anyone other than yourself.”

 

“I take that as a no, then.” Sauron smiled at him, falsely reassuring. ”Don’t worry, we’ll have lots of time together once you’ve run out of people who can die to protect your pride.”

 

He leaned down and cupped Celebrimbor’s chin in a facade of warmth. “I did miss you, Tyelpe.”

 

Celebrimbor flinched rather violently, and from behind him came the sounds of yet more struggles.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrimbor waits.

Ten paces by five paces. That was how big his room was. There was a blanket, and a bucket, and absolutely nothing else. Clearly repurposed from whatever it had previously been—perhaps storage?—and definitely underground from the chill and lack of light, he couldn’t tell anything else about his new cell. He’d woken up in here after the battle and only been taken out by orqui to a room down the hall at seemingly random intervals. Imprisoned in his own city. Atar would be so proud.

They hadn’t asked him any questions yet. All they did was hit him, mock him, and do whatever they could to hurt him while taking an obnoxious amount of glee in doing so. Then they’d dump him back in here as painfully as possible, drop some amount of water and inevitably spill most of it, and leave. No food ever appeared, but that was fine. He could go ridiculously long without food after practically living on his work for years at a time. The pain and blood were annoying, but nothing more, really.

None of this made any sense.

Celebrimbor paced around the room more, making circles after circles after circles after circles.

Why weren’t they asking anything? That was clearly why he was still alive, because he knew where half the rings were and that damned traitor Maia thought he deserved them. So why? The only thing this was achieving was making him more certain in his convictions. They weren’t even properly torturing him. It didn’t seem right.

Add in the complete lack of any Maia, and it went from unexpected to completely unsettling. He hadn’t even been mentioned by any orqui. Surely that wasn’t how this would work? He remembered the years after Nelyo had been rescued, all the things he never meant to tell them but slipped out anyway that revealed just how hellish his imprisonment had been. It didn’t fit.

The door opened behind him and he whipped around to see who it was but tripped, barely catching himself on the wall with a sigh. Pain always made this worse. A hand grabbed his arm and helped pull him upright, soft and gentle and distinctly unlike an orc’s.

“Just as clumsy as ever, I see,” Annatar laughed, smiling kindly at him.

Celebrimbor stared at him in surprise. That......he looked like Annatar now. He was even acting like his lover, but he.....Annatar was just a creation, not actually a person. A guise meant to use and hurt him.

He snatched his arm away and backed into the wall, hurt welling up even as he tried to stop it. Of all the tricks, it had to be that one. Annatar.

The monster frowned at him, seemingly so genuinely concerned. “Tyelpe? Are you alright?”

Tyelperinquar stepped to the side, desperate to get further away from him, and didn’t bother to respond. Annatar followed.

“You’re hurt. How did this happen? I gave them orders not to touch you, but these cuts....I’m so sorry, Tyelpe, I had no idea.”

That had to be a lie. They were his forces, his subordinates. He couldn’t just...not know, especially when he needed something from him. It didn’t seem right. But.....he seemed so honestly upset about it. And the orqui hadn’t asked him any questions, and there had never been any signs of him since he was brought here.

He opened his mouth—and shut it before any words could escape. 

No. He couldn’t let himself think like that. Anything and everything could be a trick. He was smarter than this. And so....silence. Just until he knew what was real and what was fake.

“Tyelpe, love? What’s wrong? I know it was my soldiers who hurt you, but I swear I’ll make up for it. Please don’t act like this. You can trust me.”

Tyelperinquar shook his head again, throat tight, and Annatar frowned. 

“You don’t believe me.” Stated so simply, it seemed innocent, but something made him want to recoil from it beyond the irrational guilt building in his stomach and threatening to make him sick. It made his skin crawl.

“I...that’s alright. I forgive you. You didn’t know all of the situation and acted rashly until I was forced to be harsher than I wanted. You’ll understand and trust me again once it’s all explained. I promise. It’ll be better than before.”

He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, blocking Annatar out as much as possible. Nothing would change. These feelings were irrational, words twisted to cause them--he wouldn’t obey them. Not this time.

A sigh, and then footsteps moving away from him. The silence brought no comfort to him.

\---

When he was next brought back to his cell, one of his friends’ heads was sitting on top of his blanket.


End file.
